Verbal Contract
by FunbagsMcBooty
Summary: What if House hadn't saved Joey Arnello? How far will Bill go to destroy House? Based on the episode 'Mob Rules'. Kind of AU, Huddy.
1. Chapter 1

**_Warning: _**There will be graphic violence.  
**_Author's note:_ **I'll update as much as possible. Be prepared for one long fic.

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* * *

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_"If he dies, I'm going to make sure you lose everything and everyone you care about."_

It had been a week since Joey had died. And he couldn't stop thinking about what his brother had said to him.

It seemed unfair. He hadn't made his brother sick, and he had done everything in his power to make sure he didn't die, but it apparently hadn't been enough to stop whatever it was from killing him.

He still felt that cold sensation in his body; the kind of feeling you get when you walk up the stairs and think there is one more step than there actually it, and your stomach drops until your foot hits solid ground.

Except that feeling wasn't going away for House. Mobsters didn't usually go back on their word, especially not about something like this and he had a feeling he had a reason to be nervous.

He was a sitting duck. All he could do was wait. He didn't expect any threats, they'd already been made. He did expect little cryptic messages, or to be sent the neck of his guitar, or maybe the seat of his motorcycle.

His knowledge of the Italian mafia wasn't very extensive, apart from what he'd seen in The God Father (parts one, two, and three), and what little he'd learned about 'The Roaring 20's' in high school, and even then the circumstances of 'The Valentine's Day Massacre' and the trials of Al Capone had baffled him.

Something told him that the mob didn't operate the same way. They were notorious for being smart, and conniving, and he doubted that they'd keep their business so predictable.

He rolled the large, red and white tennis ball between his hands, a concentrated look on his face as he located an interesting spot on his desk to occupy his eyes with while he thought.

What should he expect? Bill had said everything and everyone that he cared about. He wasn't close to people. There was Wilson, but even their relationship wasn't that great. But who said he'd only meant the obvious choices?

There were his parents; whom would be the first choice for anyone. There was his team; which he valued implicitly, even if he refused to admit it. And then there was Cuddy.

Lisa Cuddy. His boss, his long time friend, his constant. The one person that would do anything to make sure his ass stayed out of trouble, no matter what he did to her.

House spent most of his effort trying to piss Cuddy off. Not because he liked to; okay, he did, but it was also fun. It brought out the side of her he like best. The fiesty side that made her curse, and give him that passionate glare of anger that set the sexual tension between them even higher.

Everyone could feel it when she was angry. Even though she tried to hide it, and swore up and down that she hated him; hated everything about him, it was obvious that the reason she kept him around wasn't just because he was a good doctor. Wilson was a good doctor, and if he even dreamt of speaking to her the way House did he would be out on his ass without the chance of getting a job anywhere in or near New Jersey.

It occurred to him that losing Cuddy was what he dreaded the most. Even if the witty mobsters weren't able to figure out his underlying feelings for her they would know that she was his boss, and hurting her would inevitably hurt him.

He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let his negligence be the downfall of his comrades. He'd be destroyed by guilt long before they came after him.

House suddenly realized that Bill had been watching him with Cuddy, a mischievous look in his dark brown eyes. He was sure he could tell what was there. Everyone else could. And if that was true she was in more danger than he had thought.

He quickly snatched his cane from its resting place against his desk, and did his version of running toward the elevators. He was going to do everything in his power to make sure she stayed out of harms way.

His finger repeatedly jabbed at the button to the second floor, not wanting any company on the ride down.

He impatiently tapped his cane on the carpeted floor, practically flying out of the opening doors, and pushed his way through the glass doors leading to the clinic.

It was obvious where he was going. His eyebrows furrowed in the middle, his eyes intently locked onto the doors leading into Cuddy's office. Everyone knew what that meant. He was either going to scream at her for cancelling a diagnostic test, or was about to beg her to allow him to cut someone open to remove something that may or may not be there.

* * *

Cuddy didn't bother to lift her head when her door crashed open. The sound was too familiar, and the thump of a cane was enough to let her know who it was.

"Kind of busy."

She muttered as she thumbed through a packet, tapping her ball-point pen against her desk. For once she wanted one day to relax, and not have to worry about him bursting into her office, spouting off about his patient being close to exploding for some unknown reason.

"Have you gotten any weird phone calls?"

Cuddy creased her forehead, lifting her head to look at him.

"My phone is dead. Should I expect some voice mails from you?"

"No..."

He shook his head to add emphasis, and sat down in the chair in front of her desk. She let out an exasperated sigh, folding her arms on top of her desk.

"House, what's going on? Since you lost that patient you've been acting...weird."

"I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"You don't seem to be."

"Well, excuse me for not being a ray of sunshine, I just lost a patient."

He feigned a saddened look causing Cuddy to roll her eyes. Her tongue poked from between her lips, and she slowly ran it over them.

"Since when has that ever gotten to you?"

"This was different?"

"Yeah...because you've never lost a thirty-something year old, male with an STD before."

"I've never lost a mobster before."

"So? You think the entire family is going to come after you? This isn't a movie, House. They're not going to hold a grudge because a surgery didn't work."

"You don't know that."

"You're being paranoid. Are you taking extra Vicodin?"

He rolled his eyes, thumping his cane against the ground.

"No."

"Then stop worrying about it. They'll hurt, they'll grieve, they'll get over it."

She pushed the folders on her desk into a neat pile, slowly pushing herself up from her desk.

"Don't you have a case to work on?"

"No."

"Mmm, well then..."

She shuffled through the folders she'd pulled into her arms, and held the one she selected out to him.

"Jessica Simms. Ten years old, suffered a heart attack during P.E."

House thumbed through the file, stopping when he came to the statement.

"She was jumping rope...with an extra eighty pounds on her abnormally short body. You're surprised?"

"Just go. Or you can do clinic all day."

"Evil."

"Lazy."

Cuddy yanked the door open, leaving House to listen to the dissipating click of her high heels on the tile floor.


	2. Paranoia

**Author's note: **The next two or three chapters will be leading up to all the excitement. This isn't a soap opera, it's not going to be one dramatic thing after another , it's going to be slow at parts or it's going to end up sounding like a soap opera. Don't like it? Don't read it!

* * *

House was starting to feel like a stalker. He'd been watching Cuddy like a hawk for the past three days, and so far there was nothing that indicated to her being in any danger. It was just a paranoid feeling he had deep in his gut, and was the underlying reason for him being tucked into the dark corner of the parking garage.

He just wanted to make sure she was safe, and even though he was a cripple and would be no match against a pair of skilled fists, or a gun for that matter, he was confident in the fact that Cuddy would have a chance to get away if he took the heat for her (should anything happen).

The sound of Cuddy's heels echoed through the cavernous garage as she made her way to her car. She hated being in there so late at night. It was dimly lit, there were a lot of places for people to hide, and she had seen one too many horror movies where vulnerable women were attacked without the slightest bit of warning.

Her hand rested in her purse, gripping the small bottle of pepper spray. It gave her a slight comfort, but she wasn't sure that if she ever had to use it that she'd be able to. She feared she'd be so shocked that she would freeze, and she'd be dead before she could even pull the spray out.

Cuddy already had her keys in her hand when she got to her car, and she quickly jammed them into the lock. She couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her, but she reassured herself that it was just the feeling you always get when it's dark. But that didn't stop her from practically throwing herself into the driver's seat, and slamming the door hard.

Her finger instantly hit the power lock on her door, and she felt relief wash over her. It was a childish thing; to be so afraid of the dark. But that wasn't the entire story. She was afraid of what could be in the dark. Blame it on her neurotic behavior, or on the fact that she had seen one too many horror movies, but either way she wasn't taking any chances.

House watched intently as Cuddy pulled out of the garage. Maybe he was being stupid. And maybe Cuddy was right; this wasn't a movie, and if they were in any danger it probably wouldn't attack in such a cliche place.

* * *

For most people sleeping is a chance to relax, a chance to forget everything bad that had happened during the day. The same couldn't be said for Lisa Cuddy.

When she came home, and got into her bed, the stress of the day was what kept her awake. She was lucky if she got three hours of sleep a night, and even luckier if they were a subsequent three hours.

Her dark curls were splayed out over the cream pillow beneath her head, her eyes locked onto the ceiling as thoughts raced through her mind.

Her hands slid over her face as she groaned. She just wanted some damn sleep, but she was much too stubborn to take any sleep aides. She didn't want to have to rely on some pill to give her the peace of mind she needed just to get a little shut eye.

The hours ticked by, and Cuddy wasn't any closer to sleeping than she had been when she'd first gotten into bed. She groaned for the hundredth time, flipping onto her stomach.

As if on cue the sound of someone practically banging on her door sounded through the quiet house.

Her eyes popped open, and she stared at the wall, hoping for a minute that it was just her imagination, but the sound repeated, and she let out an annoyed sigh.

"Why me?"

She pushed herself up, forcing herself to get out of the bed, and wrapped her thin, grey robe around herself before making her way to the front door.

Cuddy flattened herself against the cool wood, standing on her tiptoes to look through the peephole. She was less than surprised to see who was waiting on the other side, and rolled her eyes, unlocking the door, and yanked it open.

"Is there a reason why you always choose an ungodly hour to visit me?"

"I'm an insomniac. Every hour for me is ungodly."

"What do you want?"

"Come get a drink with me."

"What?"

"A drink. You know. Those wet things in glasses, usually have alcohol in them."

"It's two in the morning."

"So?"

"So I have to be at work in six hours!"

"You're the boss. No one is going to say anything if you're late."

"I have meetings, and grant proposals. I can't be hungover."

"It's one drink."

"No."

"C'mon, Cuddy. Where's the girl I knew in college?"

"She grew up."

"What happened to Partypants?"

Her cheeks flushed as she straightened up, clearing her throat, her eyes darting around out of habit. There was no one there, obviously, but she had spent her life building her integrity; she didn't need years of work destroyed by one simple statement.

"Fine. One drink."

She stepped aside to let him in, and he raised his eyebrow. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"You are such a pervert. You can either stand outside in the cold, or you can wait in my living room."

House nodded his head once, hobbling inside. He looked around, moving to the living room, and sat down on the couch. Cuddy gave him a warning glare, pointing her finger at him to add emphasis.

"Stay here."

"Do I get a spanking if I don't?"

She rolled her eyes, turning on her heel, and walked to her bedroom.

She hated that he had the ability to get her to do anything he wanted her to, and hated even more that he knew her so well that he knew she wouldn't be asleep.

After doing a quick swipe of make-up, and fixing her unruly hair she changed into a pair of jeans, and a black blouse; a thick red belt around the waist. She slipped her feet into a pair of high heels, and clicked her way back to House.

He had been occupying himself by drumming out a tunless rythym on the floor, and lifted his head when he heard her approaching. Both of his eyebrows rose, and he let out a fox whistle, causing her to roll her eyes yet again.

"Close your mouth, you're drooling."

House slowly stood, motioning for the door, following after her when she made her way to it.

"It's a good thing you went with jeans. We're taking my bike."

Cuddy's eyes widened as he placed his hand on her lower back, steering her out the front door after having locked before shutting it.

"What?"

He smirked a bit, locking the door before closing it behind himself.

"Relax. I don't have a bike. God, you're so gullible."

She scoffed as she followed him out to his car, clutching her purse over her shoulder. This was probably a really bad idea. She had work the next day, she didn't always handle her alcohol well, and the last time she had gotten drunk with House she had ended up waking up naked in his bed.

Cuddy let herself into the passenger seat, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face while she watched House climb in. He tossed his cane to her, and she caught it with a surprised look.

"Could've warned me."

"You caught it didn't you?"

"Just drive."


	3. Cosa Nostra

As expected the bar was pretty much empty. It was three in the morning on a Wednesday night, and pretty much the only people there were a few regulars that probably spent most of their life working just to support their need for alcohol.

Most of the people there were men, and they were all dressed in business suits; heads hung low over a glass of scotch, hair a mess, shirts wrinkled, no doubt recovering from a brawl with the wife or a stressful day at the office.

It wasn't sleezey, and there were no hookers winding down after a night of 'business' but it still didn't make Cuddy feel at home. She wasn't a bar going type of girl, and the only time she really drank was when she was at some sort of medical conference and the alcohol was free.

"So...explain to me again why we had to come to a bar?" She asked as she sipped at her drink, her tongue circling the straw as it rested in her mouth.

"Because the local Applebee's was closed."

Cuddy rolled her eyes as she set her drink down, swiveling the chair to face House, one leg crossed over the other.

"In the twenty something years that I have know you you've never asked me out for a drink. You either call me, or show up my house, shove a file in my face, and leave. What's going on?"

"Why does something have to be going on?"

She cocked her head to the side, shooting him a look that said, 'you have got to be kidding me'. She leaned forward, resting her elbow on the bar, and held out her left hand, putting her pointer finger from the other hand to the left one.

"One; you asked if I've been getting weird phone calls, and since I haven't gotten any from you I can only imagine that it's someone you've pissed off. Two-"

She was cut off when House spoke up, looking more than concerned.

"Wait, you have gotten phone calls?"

Her eyes rolled as she grabbed her drink and took a long sip.

"It's not like someone called me and told me I have seven days to live."

"Well, what were they about?"

"Why do you care?"

"Just tell me!"

Cuddy was a bit taken aback by the hint of desperation in his voice. It was unlike him. Not only was he acting weird, but he seemed to actually care, and the last time she checked he was too selfish to care about anyone but himself.

"Uhm...I don't know. It was a wrong number, and then the guy started hitting on me."

"Did he tell you his name?"

"I didn't talk to him long enough to find out."

He nodded, sipping his beer slowly as stared at a point on the wall. It seemed like a harmless tactic, but the motives behind it could have been much more sinister than he thought. He realized that not knowing much about the way things like this worked would probably be what got them into this mess in the first place.

"House, really, what's going on? Are you okay?"

She sounded genuinely concerned, and she was. She'd never seen him like this, he was sweating bullets and that in itself worried her.

"Nothing."

"House! I know you're lying, and if this concerns me I have the right to know."

"They're canceling 'General Hospital'."

Cuddy rolled her eyes as she finished off her second drink, holding up one finger to the bartender. She shook her head as she nursed the new drink between her hands.

"If you weren't going to tell me then why did you even bother asking me to come out with you?"

"Misery loves company."

"You're entire life is misery, and you've never wanted company before. I think that you screwed up...and now you're afraid that this mistake might come back to bite you in the ass, or my ass depending on how bad it is. And I think that your paranoid mind thinks that something worse than a lawsuit is going to come my way. This wouldn't happen to have to do anything with the Arnello case, does it?"

House scoffed, sipping his drink slowly, his eyes rolling around like a pinball in an arcade game. He was obviously stalling, but she wasn't planning on letting up any time soon.

"House?"

"Okay, fine, yes, it has a little something to do with the Arnello case. Happy?"

"No. If you were threatened you have to go to the police. They're known mob-"

She was cut off yet again by a sarcastic chuckle from laugh.

"Do you not watch the news? These guys specialize in making people disappear. They've been accused more than a few times and they get out of it every time!"

"What exactly did he say to you?"

"He said that if his brother died he'd destroy me."

"Just like that."

"No, he made it sound much more pleasant but that was the gist of it."

"A poetic mobster, how lovely."

Cuddy brought her hand to her cheek with a rather loud smack, her eyes rolling shut. She wanted to say that House was overreacting but this guy had just lost his brother; he was probably in a lot of emotional pain, and had most likely twisted the story around to make his need for revenge much more justifiable.

Her eyes popped open and she looked over at House, looking a bit confused.

"So, why exactly does this involve me?"

"He said he would destroy me; he meant everything and everyone in my life. You're someone in my life."

"I'm your boss. I don't really have a choice in that."

"Guess he didn't see that way."

"You do realize that you could be taking this a little too far. They might just...drive your car into the river or something."

"Yeah, or they might just plant a bomb that goes off the next time I start my car."

She picked up her glass, bringing the straw into her mouth, suddenly feeling a little bit nervous. That was definitely a stereotypical mob move; and probably not below their standards, and even though it seemed like going overboard to her it might have seemed completely reasonable to whoever was planning this (if they were planning anything at all).

"Thanks, now I'm going to be paranoid about getting into my own car."

A sigh escaped her lips before she sucked down her drink, and House lifted his hand to get Cuddy another one. She gratefully took it, exchanging the newly filled glass for the empty one.

Over the next two hours the Dean of Medicine knocked back drink after drink, and was becoming increasingly more intoxicated. She drank when she was stressed, and the fact that she had started to think about every possible aspect of her 'demise' had not only made her feel a little bit crazy, but extremely stressed.

"C'mon, Cuddy. I'm cutting you off."

She grumbled as he pried the half empty glass from her hand. She fell forward from the force, making an almost unnatural sound, causing him to smirk a little.

He'd seen her like this a couple times; christmas parties, benefits, extremely boring medical conferences, and a few times in college, and he never got tired of how relaxed she got. It was a nice change of pace when he didn't have to worry about her giving him a scornful, hate-filled look.

House wrapped his left arm around the drunken woman's waist, hoisting her up from the bar stool, and focused as much of his weight as he could on his cane. This was a lot harder than he had thought it would be, and realized he should have thought this through a lot better.

The trip to the car was anything but graceful. There was a lot of stumbling, a lot of cursing, and a lot of giggling coming from the wasted brunette, but he did eventually get her settled in, and rounded the front of the car to get into the driver's seat.

At least twenty minutes passed before House worked up the courage to turn the key in the ignition, and when he did his eyes were squeezed tight together. A sense of relief washed over him when he heard nothing but the sound of the engine humming.

One night down, who knew how many to go.


	4. Confession

"Ow!"

Cuddy cried out as her head smacked into the wall, her body sliding between the toilet and the tub. She was much drunker than she had been in the past few years, which was evident as she couldn't take three steps without almost falling on her ass.

"Cuddy, stay still."

"I can't…"

She whimpered from the narrow spot she had fallen between, her words muffled as her face was turned toward the tub.

"I can't get up."

Her hand smacked at the toilet, trying to find a grip stable enough to help herself up. House couldn't help but to chuckle a bit as he hobbled over, grabbing her arm, and yanked her up.

She felt a dizziness move through her head from the quick movement, her hand slapping against her forehead.

"Throw up."

House pointed toward the toilet, tugging her hair into a ponytail at the base of her neck.

"I don't need to throw up…I need…I need tacos."

"It's five in the morning."

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, her mouth falling open.

"FIVE?!"

Her hand smacked even harder against her forehead as she let herself fall back against the wall, her head hitting with unpleasant sound thump.

House rolled his eyes, taking hold of her arm again, and pulled her to her feet. His arm instinctively went around her waist, and he nudged her toward her bedroom.

"C'mon, we'll get you to bed."

"I'm not sleeping with you."

"I'm not asking you to."

"Why not?"

She looked a little offended, trying to jerk her body away from him but his grip was too tight.

"Because you're drunk."

"So? Isn't that like…your thing? I was drunk last time too."

"You were nineteen."

"And?"

"And stupid."

"I'm not stupid!"

"You were."

"Was not."

"You slept with me, didn't you?"

"Ah…you got me there."

He rolled his eyes, shoving her onto the bed a little harder than he had meant to. He grabbed her leg, removing her heels.

"It's not wonder you kept tripping. I'm pretty sure Deans aren't supposed to wear hooker shoes."

She hiccupped before flopping back on the bed, her hands falling heavily onto her belly.

"They're Jimmy Choo…"

"…okay?"

"Not hooker shoes."

He held the shoe up, examining the three inch heel, his eyebrow cocking dramatically.

"How many working girls have you seen in shoes like these?"

"I don't buy hookers."

"Oh, you should, their _loads_ of fun."

"Pig."

"Prude."

He moved to her jeans, and her head quickly snapped up, and her hands flew on top of his; she may have been drunk, but she wasn't stupid.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Do you want to sleep in your jeans?"

"I can do it myself."

"I'd prefer not having to drive you in because you got a concussion."

He pushed her hands away, unbuttoning her jeans, and slid them down her legs. She had decided against a thong when she'd gotten ready, but the semi-see-through boy-cut panties that she chose weren't much better.

House smirked, lifting his eyes up to meet the flushed face of his boss.

"For someone who didn't want sex you sure picked the wrong underwear."

"Shut up, House."

He chuckled a bit as he unbuckled the thick red belt from around her waist, tossing it onto the floor along with her pants. Sure, he knew where her hamper was, but he wasn't a maid; she could deal with it in the morning.

After situating her on the bed he pulled the covers over her.

"Are you leaving?"

"I kind of figured this is where our night would end."

"What if I fall?"

"Don't?"

"I might have to throw up…"

"Diagnosticians need sleep too."

"You don't sleep."

He narrowed his eyes at her, watching as a faint smile moved over her dry lips.

"Fine, but just until you fall asleep. You want me to check under the bed for monsters too?"

Even trashed his snarky comments bugged her. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"Not tired."

"You will be."

House sat rounded the bed, sitting down on the edge of it, tapping his cane on the floor. He could feel her eyes on him, but decided not to look up; he really didn't want to see what was in her eyes.

"Are you thinking about that guy?"

"Arnello."

"Yeah…him."

"No."

"What are you thinking about?"

His eyebrow cocked as he looked up. She seemed genuinely interested, but he figured that must have been the liquor doing its job; though her eyes seemed less glazed, meaning she was slowly starting to sober up, so maybe she really did want to know.

"Is this Oprah?"

"I'm curious."

"I'm thinking that I wish you'd shut up and go to sleep."

"I'm not, so you mind as well tell me."

"I'm thinking about the case."

"The case you didn't want?"

"What can I say? It got interesting."

She nodded slowly as she folded her hands under her head, gently gnawing at the inside of her cheek, her eyes struggling to stay open.

"Good night, Cuddy."

He muttered under his breath just as she fell into a drunken coma, and looked at the clock. It was nearly six, he was too tired to drive home, and Cuddy's couch wouldn't agree with his leg in the morning. He kicked his shoes off, leaning his can against the nightstand, and lay back on the bed, and tried to keep his body as far away from hers as possible, but the temptation was almost too much. Thankfully he was able to keep himself in check, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

House jolted up right to the sound of a scream, followed by a loud beeping. Why was it so hot? And why was Cuddy hitting him. His eyes finally focused only to be met with a thick smoke nearly hiding the flames in the corner of the room.

"What the hell?"

It took him a minute to realize that Cuddy was jumping out of the bed, sheet in hand. Before he could stop her she smothered the flames with it, letting out a slight curse as a small ember burned the inside of her wrist. She stomped on the blanket a few more times to make sure she got it all then stood back, breathing heavily.

When she pulled the sheet away from the area that had been burned they both spotted a flare that had obviously set her carpet on fire. She let out a heavy sigh before running her hand over her face, and walked to the bed, plopping down next to House.

She wasn't really concerned with the fact that she didn't remember how they ended up sleeping in her bed, or why she was half nude. She had been drinking, and from the pounding in her head she had a feeling it was a lot.

"You should call the police."

"And tell them what, Cuddy?"

"The truth? Believe it or not it does work."

"I'm taking some time off?"

"What?"

"If I'm not around maybe they'll back off everyone here. I shouldn't have even come here last night."

"Don't blame yourself. They probably would have come here anyway…"

This was insane. She believed everything he was saying and there were still many unanswered questions she had. How did she know this wasn't just another one of his sick and twisted ways of screwing with her?

"Who am I supposed to blame? It's my fault they're all pissed off."

"I don't know…but you're not going to run away from your problems in hopes that everything will just go back to normal. Go to the cops…tell them what's going on. It's better than running scared for the rest of your life."

"What makes you think you're right?"

"The same thing that always makes you think you're right."

"I don't think; I know."

"Well, whatever. I know, then."

She pushed herself up from the bed, wrapping her robe around herself, and fluffed her hair. It was weird to have him in her bedroom so early in the morning; it was weird to have him in her room period.

"I'm going to make some breakfast. Do you want anything?"

"Your bedroom was just on fire and you're going to eat?"

"I have a hangover and nothing is going to get solved by freaking out. It's not like I can go to the police with this; we don't have any evidence that it was Arnello."

He nodded slowly as he grabbed his cane, brushing his hand over his scruffy face.

"Coffee?"

"Of course."


	5. Helpless

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

House's cane tapped incessantly on the carpeted floor of Cuddy's office as she tried to keep her narrowed eyes off of him. He was trying her every last nerve and it was taking all of the restraint in her body to keep herself from throwing the mug on her desk at him.

"Stop it." She growled under her breath as she typed something into her computer.

"I don't know what you think E-Mailing the chief of police is gong to do."

"They wouldn't put me through on the phone so this is our best bet. The F.B.I is supposed to get back to me."

He rolled his eyes as he slumped in the chair and let his head fall back while letting out a very audible groan.

"They're not going to help us! They probably think we're insane!"

"Hey, I thought you were insane too until my bedroom nearly went up in flames. "

"So, what? We just wait until they make another move and possibly kill one of us?"

"You got a better idea?" She asked as she peeked around the computer monitor.

He of course didn't answer and she went back to her typing. She knew he was right but what were they going to do? Just sit there and do nothing? She'd rather die knowing she had tried to get help.

House knew that she was scared. She had been shaking like a leaf ever since breakfast. He felt extremely guilty because he knew he was the reason she was in danger but what could he do? They'd already targeted her so even if he alienated himself from her she wouldn't be safe.

"It'll be okay, Cuddy."

"I know." She said dryly without even looking up from her computer.

Everything would not be okay and she knew that. If they didn't end up dead then the Arnello's would end up in jail and since mob members had more connections than an operator they would never be safe. They'd end up being put in the witness protection program and she would have to quit her job. She'd never see her family again and she'd have to start over in some unfamiliar place where she knew no one; constantly living in fear.

All of that knowledge had suddenly become too much for her to handle and she broke down in tears. She knew it would only be a matter of time before she could no longer handle the fact that she was screwed but she'd hoped that it would be in the privacy of her own home.

House sat up when he heard a cry come from behind the computer monitor and quickly moved to her side. His hand rubbed soothing circles over her back and he struggled to kneel next to her. He gently hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her head.

"It's going to be okay. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I'll keep this one. I know I'm an ass but I wouldn't let you die for my mistake."

"No one is going to die." She forced the words out as she really didn't believe them herself.

He nodded as he offered her a gentle smile, hoping that she would keep that positive attitude no matter what happened, and he knew things were going to get worse as time went on.

"Exactly. So stop worrying."

He grabbed a tissue from the box on her desk and gently dabbed at her tears. He usually didn't care when she cried but since this was his fault and it was a lot more serious than a few hurt feelings he felt that it was his responsibility to make sure that she was okay in every sense of the word.

"Thank you…" She muttered softly, trying to force a smile that just didn't seem to want to come.

"Not a problem. But don't expect me to get on my knees for you again."

She smirked a little as she sniffled and helped him to stand back up. He gripped his cane and hobbled over to the door, opening it before he looked over his shoulder at her.

"We'll get help, but right now I'm going to do some work to get my mind off of it. You should too."

She nodded and swallowed hard as she watched him. For some reason she felt a fear rising in her belly at the thought of him leaving her. He wasn't much in the way of protection but she felt much safer when he was around than when he wasn't.

"Okay."

He winked to try and reassure her before he walked out into the hall, his cane tapping distinctively on the tiled floor. The truth was he was just as worried as Cuddy was; if not more. They were out to destroy him so while Cuddy was at risk of losing her life he was at risk of losing hers, Wilson's, his family's, his co-worker's, his own, and he had no idea what to do to stop it.

* * *

House jerked awake as the door to the exam room flew open and he fought to focus on the figure before him. It was Wilson, looking much more frazzled than he had ever seen him before.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Wilson let the door shut behind him before he leaned against it and took in a deep breath. He seemed a little confused and not sure where to begin as ran his hand over his face.

"I…don't even know."

House raised his eyebrow as he sat up and looked up him. It wasn't really a straight forward answer but he was sure he'd get one sooner or later.

"I was in my car…and I'd just turned onto Forest Road when these three cars boxed me in and I had to slam on my breaks. The next thing I know five or six guys get out with these baseball bats and start beating the shit out of my car. One of them got my window broken open and I was positive they were going to start in on me but then they just got back in their cars and drove off."

So this was how they were going to do it. They were going to scare everyone until they were too scared to make a single move and they'd get them right where they wanted. It was a good tactic but House had no intention of letting himself or anyone else play into their grubby little hands.

"Did they say anything?" House wanted to know, trying to look as concerned as possible without seeming like he knew anything.

"No…not that I understood anyway. They were all kind of yelling and since they were busy pounding on my car I couldn't really hear anything over it."

House nodded and 'hopped' off of the exam table with a groan. If he wanted to make everything seem normal he had to act like it was.

"You're alright?"

"Yeah…just a little freaked out."

He nodded again and snatched his cane from its resting place against the wall.

"Did you call the cops?"

"Yeah…they said they'd come but since well…my car doesn't exactly run that well anymore."

House knew that he should probably tell Wilson about Arnello but until he knew more about what was going on he didn't want to worry his friend anymore than he already was.

"Well, if you'll excuse me I have a patient to save from the boney hands of death."

"Since when are you eager to get to work?"

"Since my patient has developed Diabetes over night."

"Mmm…interesting."

"Very."

He walked out of the room with a confident swagger while his face held a world of concern. First Cuddy, now Wilson. It was only a matter of time before they went after everyone else he was even remotely close to. It seemed unfair but the mafia wasn't exactly notorious for its fairness.


End file.
